Because of the intricate layout of these two poems, we had to upload them as images rather than text. That makes them opaque to screenreaders, so we included the full text of the poem in the caption and again in the alternative text. -ed.
Puzzle Box Rattling
Sternum & Spine
It Rattles inside its Box
until it escapes
And moves
To the mouth
And whirls—
The square tasting
Like wet cardboard as I Catch it
between my teeth
& pinch it with my
filed down fingers &
Pry
It
Out.
Only to find a puzzle piece. Only it’s blank. Only containing hints
of a fading picture.
Promising to paint it, I
the piece & lay it in a mostly
empty
frame—sparsely populated with parts
of paintings.
I watch it, impatient. Reach my pointer
into
the mouth, for the next part
gagging
as the fingerSticksToSaliva&Slime
—Still— no new piece
falls
out.
There are—it seems—people who write in pictures and not puzzles.
Though I try, I am saddened that the stomach only churns
in parts
We went there at night. Parked our car at the parking lot and entered
The ocean horizon was nothingness
Clouds hid moonlight
And stars
and there was but an abyss.
A canvas of black stretched
With layers of paint scraped
Onto its surface with a spatula
Leaving harsh stark lines on the
painting.
The only clear lines.
The seafoam whites paused to be admired. Selfishly showing off when all other beauty sleeps.
It keeps the watchers where it’s the prettiest by chilling its waters.
With the gentle storm winds brewing in salty mist
No birds chase away the watchers.
No stars draw the eye.
We tell ourselves it’s too cold
to cross the salty shoreline.
That it would
storm.
And we leave. Promising
To come back. Drive
To the cookout drive through
Order fries and
listen
To the tune
of those grasping selfishly like
the sea to be seen, but never accomplishing it.
They are but forgettable
Compared to the guttural sound.
We jump from genre to genre.
Country. Hip-hop. Musical. Pop. Disney. Climb out the window. Feel the breeze around us. A
wind much unlike the sea’s bellowing breath, blanketing bountifully around us. We stayed, our
feet in soggy socks with girth instead of socks abandoned in the grains as our feet pressed the
texture. Instead, we reminisce
in the lot as
—— the lonely blackness revealed its beauty to the shells and sand grains that stayed ——
If you like what you’ve read here, help keep the site going and
Nitya Budamagunta
Nitya Budamagunta is a BFA creative writing student at University of Noth Carolina Wilmington. Her poem “Houses” received an honorable mention for NC State’s Dorianne Laux Poetry Prize, and she is the editor-in-chief of Atlantis Creative Magazine. When not writing, she can be found fencing, pondering how the universe started, and making earrings. Find her @nityasnovelnook on Instagram, or on her website https://bvnitya.wixsite.com/novelnook